81/17 Fever
A/N: Alpha and Libra.
Fever
By Demeter
He cups her cheek with one hand, carefully laying the blade against her fever-hot skin with the other. She is very still in his grasp, knowing that one flinch, and the surface would be broken in a line of crimson, starting the mosaique.
He's breathless with anticipation, and yet, he hesitates. Carl is savoring the utter terror in her eyes. Others are reminding him that Cindy Thomas was one of the people who helped make that House of Cards that the Dollhouse was come tumbling down. Not to mention the fact that Libra was one of them. Still.
"I'm sorry," he tells her. "Echo is Number One."
"I don't want to be the damn Number One!" she yells, so unexpectedly that he nearly drops the knife. It's the fever talking, he's sure. "I never wanted any of this! I tried to... to help people like you!"
"People like me?" Alpha thinks that is hysterical. Touching, somehow. “People like me?” he asks, laughing. “There's no one else like us. Alpha and Omega. I'm afraid there's no place for little Libra.”
She screams which makes the voices from within, of the others, louder and more insistent. Alpha presses his hands against his head for a moment as if to contain them, shut them up. He's going to shut her up too, one way or another. He wouldn't mind using a needle and thread.
When he looks up though, her screams have died down to a whimper. It's time.
He regards her for a moment longer as he's weighing the knife in his hand. Shaking from fear or cold, she nevertheless stares back at him. Cindy Thomas is not going to beg for her her life or that of her baby. He's thinking that she has more class than most of the people he's killed.
What's more, she and the other-voices might have a point.
Cindy Thomas has to go, like all of them, the background singer, the hostage negotiator, the safe cracker. Her mind, that is. Not necessarily her body. Maybe there is an alternative.
He walks over to the table behind the chair. She's twisting and struggling in her restraints, trying to see what he's doing though he suspects she already knows.
“Everyone Echo has been has to die,” he declares. “So Echo can be forever Number One.”
She is crying again, well aware of what he's going to do, one way or another, and what it means for her and the illusion of safety she's been harboring for two years. No one is ever safe.
Alpha walks around the chair to face her, leaning really close as he shows her the knife and the scan. “Which one is it?”
It's not really much of a choice for her, he knows, still, she's struggling with the implications. It's understood that this time, it's going to be irreversible, nothing that Topher Brink can easily turn around. Not that he'd be able to turn anything around from prison anyway.
It's a game of roulette, whatever person he puts inside her head now, can't simply be overwritten with Cindy Thomas. Although, in comparison to being dead, it's an alternative.
“How do I know you're not going to kill me anyway?” she asks bitterly.
He puts the knife away, laying a hand over her belly, making her cringe. “I am going to kill you anyway, that's the beauty of it. But this,” he holds up the scan disk, “ leaves the kid alive. Better?”
Alpha can tell she's thinking about it, her life, everything that defines her, gone as easily as blowing out a candle.
“Who?” she wants to know, and he shakes his head with a smile.
“It won't make a difference to you - or me for that matter. You won't remember.” Chuckling to himself, he inserts the disk into the slot. “Goodbye, Cindy.”
It's funny, he thinks, that she's so mad she'd probably kill him if she could. Bad luck; he got to her first.
Fever
By Demeter
He cups her cheek with one hand, carefully laying the blade against her fever-hot skin with the other. She is very still in his grasp, knowing that one flinch, and the surface would be broken in a line of crimson, starting the mosaique.
He's breathless with anticipation, and yet, he hesitates. Carl is savoring the utter terror in her eyes. Others are reminding him that Cindy Thomas was one of the people who helped make that House of Cards that the Dollhouse was come tumbling down. Not to mention the fact that Libra was one of them. Still.
"I'm sorry," he tells her. "Echo is Number One."
"I don't want to be the damn Number One!" she yells, so unexpectedly that he nearly drops the knife. It's the fever talking, he's sure. "I never wanted any of this! I tried to... to help people like you!"
"People like me?" Alpha thinks that is hysterical. Touching, somehow. “People like me?” he asks, laughing. “There's no one else like us. Alpha and Omega. I'm afraid there's no place for little Libra.”
She screams which makes the voices from within, of the others, louder and more insistent. Alpha presses his hands against his head for a moment as if to contain them, shut them up. He's going to shut her up too, one way or another. He wouldn't mind using a needle and thread.
When he looks up though, her screams have died down to a whimper. It's time.
He regards her for a moment longer as he's weighing the knife in his hand. Shaking from fear or cold, she nevertheless stares back at him. Cindy Thomas is not going to beg for her her life or that of her baby. He's thinking that she has more class than most of the people he's killed.
What's more, she and the other-voices might have a point.
Cindy Thomas has to go, like all of them, the background singer, the hostage negotiator, the safe cracker. Her mind, that is. Not necessarily her body. Maybe there is an alternative.
He walks over to the table behind the chair. She's twisting and struggling in her restraints, trying to see what he's doing though he suspects she already knows.
“Everyone Echo has been has to die,” he declares. “So Echo can be forever Number One.”
She is crying again, well aware of what he's going to do, one way or another, and what it means for her and the illusion of safety she's been harboring for two years. No one is ever safe.
Alpha walks around the chair to face her, leaning really close as he shows her the knife and the scan. “Which one is it?”
It's not really much of a choice for her, he knows, still, she's struggling with the implications. It's understood that this time, it's going to be irreversible, nothing that Topher Brink can easily turn around. Not that he'd be able to turn anything around from prison anyway.
It's a game of roulette, whatever person he puts inside her head now, can't simply be overwritten with Cindy Thomas. Although, in comparison to being dead, it's an alternative.
“How do I know you're not going to kill me anyway?” she asks bitterly.
He puts the knife away, laying a hand over her belly, making her cringe. “I am going to kill you anyway, that's the beauty of it. But this,” he holds up the scan disk, “ leaves the kid alive. Better?”
Alpha can tell she's thinking about it, her life, everything that defines her, gone as easily as blowing out a candle.
“Who?” she wants to know, and he shakes his head with a smile.
“It won't make a difference to you - or me for that matter. You won't remember.” Chuckling to himself, he inserts the disk into the slot. “Goodbye, Cindy.”
It's funny, he thinks, that she's so mad she'd probably kill him if she could. Bad luck; he got to her first.