September 2016
Tired. Not physically, not really. He could still run for miles if he needed to, but he was getting sloppy. Fatigued mentally. Things had been so hectic over the last month. He hadn’t made a major mistake yet, that he knew of, but….he needed a break, a big break. Christmas was still three months away, but that was too far. He needed a something sooner, if not long.
Adrenaline had driven him this far, and to be fair, sex. Her energy, even as she recovered and adapted to the new circumstances, was, jolting. She made him feel alive in ways that he hadn’t for a long time, even as she struggled with her own trauma. Deep inside he knew he was a substitute for her pain, but he didn’t care, not right now.
He’d been driving himself to the brink, the Paragon Center had just opened, and to be close to base and have a better cover identity, Oliver Smith had arrived to take over security for the newly opened facility. Hiring, interviewing, administration, these weren’t his specialties, they never had been. Overseeing the secret parts of the construction, for the hangar and floors for eventual Alliance use, that at least bore some sort of resemblance to something he was used to, at least it felt like it.
At least it was close to the base, just a hop, skip and a jump, or really, if one felt like it, an underground tunnel that he had cleared and built into the Center himself. Really, the base still looked like an abandoned warehouse on the outside, hidden by William in some sort of labyrinth of shell companies to where it was an eyesore in the newly rejuvenating downtown area as the Paragon Center was finishing construction, but….not for sale.
He needed to check on Bryan……damn, he still couldn’t believe he’d been alive. All this time, alive. The guilt over fucking up so badly when he escaped and rescued Bryce. If he’d been more thorough, it didn’t matter that he’d been out of it. That was just a damn excuse, maybe he could have found him and Bridgette too.
As the commercial jet taxied into the gate, he rolled his shoulders. He didn’t really like to fly with other pilots in charge, but sacrifices needed to be made. Technically, he’d not been on Alliance business but Bryce wasn’t going to say no to a clue about the the date of our sister. He’d figured out a way to make it Paragon Center business but he’d have driven or walked if he has too. Instead, business class, damn civilians flew in luxury, even the so-called economy was far nicer than anything he remembered on bare military flights.
Texas had been a bust so far. Oh, he’d hired one person away from a port security firm in Galveston for the Paragon Center, but that had just been a cover. Austin was the main purpose of his visit, and breaking into the local police departments records hadn’t been that difficult, and they had one blurred image of someone who could be Bridgette, maybe. No mention of abilities, just a potential person of interest in a suspicious death case four years ago. Hints, just hints, but they tied into what little information Bryan had remembered, but only sort of. Different assets had been assigned to different continents, countries. He didn’t think N. America had been hers, but he wasn’t sure. But….the death was suspicious, and it couldn’t be written off. She’d been there though. He knew that. He didn’t know how he knew. He just knew. He could feel her. She’d survived the transformation. That was all he really needed to know. He’d find her eventually. She’d forgive him a break in the search. She always forgave him his mistakes. But more importantly, he’d found a hint of another lead. Maybe he’d make it a working vacation.
The travelers all hurried to get out of their seats, but nobody hurried him. Their hind brains could recognize violence and something about the sandy haired young man in the business suit screamed predator. The aisle cleared when he started moving to get off the metal cylinder that cloaked his senses in human debris and exhaustion.
He hadn’t told anyone when he was getting back, just told Spyder to plan on a few days. So, he hadn’t checked in. Just grabbed a cab as he left San Diego International, absently listening to the cabbie natter on about a couple of asinine American sports. Baseball he vaguely recognized since it was growing in popularity back home, but he really wasn’t sure why someone would name a professional team after a Spanish Catholic priest. He’d not been much more than agnostic before the army, and, well, if there was a God that had some great plan that included torturing his family, he or she or it could go fuck themselves and die, and if they weren’t willing to do it on their own accord, he’d accept the mission. He’d also had enough of that godforsaken Chargers crap and fake football the Americans played from Henri. He grunted at the appropriate times but mainly he thought of what he might find back at base. Truth be told, he had a few fantasies that kept playing over in his mind, and even though this suit was tailored, it felt a little tight at the moment.
He handed the cabbie an extra $20 when he exited, just to expedite the transaction, and just to pop the trunk to grab his own suitcase, then ducked into the Paragon Center Parking garage, before making his way through the various hallways to duck back down to the secret tunnel over to the base.
Thankfully, there was no chatter regarding any potential mission today, in fact when he pinged Apex for everyone’s locations, everyone except Shawna was away from the base, working at their “real” jobs.
As for Shawna, well, she’d probably been playing video games all day, not that he minded. Whatever it took to take her mind off the traumas she’d experienced. He still felt guilty about their nightly rendezvous, if you could call it that. She kept sneaking down to his room from hers, and after that first night, he hadn’t even resisted. The way
her pale skin had glowed to his eyes, the black bra and panties she had been wearing when he answered the door to her quiet but insistent knocks had highlighted far more than it had hidden. If he’d had any will power at all after the trauma he had suffered, waiting for her to wake from that coma over weeks and weeks, well, he had none then. That first night had been four weeks ago, and while they weren’t necessarily hiding their growing attachment, they hadn’t broadcast it quite yet, as she always quickly left after their sexual escapades. Although they spent a lot of time together, to Henri’s annoyance when Shawna hacked as her new lungs adapted to cigarette smoke, or her balance flew away with her mouth as she tried to get her alcohol tolerance back, and yes, even some mild drug use, although there he had at least suggested she not try weed and the booze and the cigarettes all at once in her virgin body. A better man would have agreed with Henri to start fresh. He was by no means the better man, not with all of his addictions, regardless of the affect they had on him. She’d been a drinking buddy before, and, well, that hadn’t changed.
The sun was setting. Whatever changes had been made to his body by that fucking English and his pet horror scientists during Project Eyes Open, one result had been that his reptilian brain knew when the sun was up and when it was down.
He entered the base, the shadows cloaking his presence. He didn’t really try to move silently, or hide from view, it was just habit, habit of years before the experimentation, and honed with new abilities since. It actually took conscience thought sometimes to act normally. He strode down the halls, planning on a quick shower before letting everyone know he was back.
He slowed as he approached his room, although the door was shut, he could hear the music thumping through the walls. He’d been lost in his thoughts, or else he would have noticed as he entered the base, which he had, in a way, just instead assuming the music was coming from Shawna’s room, especially as it jumped from track to track, from punk to some sort of indie rock that he vaguely recognized, to the ska music she seemed to favor the most.
As he opened the door, he could smell the whiskey and the cigarettes, and yes, the weed too. He’d built extra circulation into his room to keep Henri’s fanaticism at bay. He hadn’t advertised it, but he hadn’t hidden it. With the guitars and drums thumping through the room, it actually hurt his hears, and he winced. He’d designed these rooms so they were multi-floor, but the main always entered into everyone’s bedrooms, with the bath connected, and then living quarters off a stairwell down to the next floor. Strange maybe, but it was the best use of space to gain access to the rest of the building, and the shared common rooms.
Of course his room was minimalist at best, a king bed with basic frame upstairs, and an armory, gun shop, and a combined meditation and martial arts space downstairs. The smoke was slowly rising from below, and he walked over and was about to make a crude joke when he heard the sobs, and then the screech of rage as a glass shattered against the wall.
Glancing over the metal railing he had left in place from the warehouse walkway, he could see her sitting on the floor, legs crossed under her, head in her hands, a marijuana joint and a cigarette, both lit, sitting in an ashtray next to half empty bottle of some sort of whiskey.
He walked down the winding metal staircase, intentionally letting his weight fall where it squeaked, but she was either too stoned, too drunk, or too something to notice.
“Hey.”
She’d heard. “Hey,” came the muffled reply.
He walked over to her, sitting down across from her, and waited. After a couple of minutes, the sobs had turned to sniffles, before she looked up and said, “What?”
“Nothing. I’m not exactly one to pry, but…..”
“I can go…..I was just in here to…….smoke.”
“I didn’t ask you to go…..and I sure as hell don’t care if you smoke in here, or well, do anything else.”
“I didn’t want anybody else to see…..and you said Apex records everything.”
“Yea…..but what didn’t you want everyone to see.”
“That I fucking suck…..”
“At?”
“My powers, they’re gone.”
“And you were trying to…..practice?”
“Yes. Because Spyder keeps asking.”
“I’ll talk to him. He’ll stop.”
“It’s not that….I mean, it is, but…..”
He waited patiently, but sensing she needed a prompt, “But what?”
“How can I be Gleam Shimmer if I can’t gleam and shimmer anymore?”
“I don’t know.”
She gasped, “Well, fuck you…..you fucking…”
He grabbed her hands tightly, “Let me finish.”
She yanked halfheartedly to pull free, but his arms and hands didn’t even move.
“Can you feel it?”
“Feel what?”
“The power, the whatever you call it, when you would summon the plats.”
She thought about it, actually thought about it before responding, “I….think so. It’s like you…..like an itch that you can’t scratch.” The corner of his mouth twitches, before she says, “Don’t you fucking dare say it.”
“So then its just practice. I don’t know how any of this shit works. I don’t know if its mental or physical, genetic or mystical. What I do know…..nobody recovers from trauma immediately. Maybe its rebuilding the pathways in the brain that allowed it, which especially in this case are completely new pathways. Maybe its behaviors. Maybe its gone forever,” holding on even though this time she kicks at him too. “But I do know that I have seen people who were told they’d never walk after battle injuries, never talk, never move their hand, and they fucking do it. It just depends on how much you want it…shit, that’s wrong, that’s not what I mean. What I mean is, you keep trying, you keep being you.”
“What do you mean, being me?” she asked, an undercurrent of tentative fear in her small voice, mixed with the normally energetic contralto.
“I mean……I’m not really good at this, you know. What I mean is that you put yourself out there, you risked your life to save those people. And you paid a horrible price for it. But it’s what heroes do.”
She gazed at him, the lovely eyes swollen with tears, and pain, and…..fear, but maybe hope. “You think I’m a hero?”
“I know you are. You could never save another person in your life, and you’d be more of a hero than 99.99 percent of the people in this brutal, ugly world.” He sighs deeply, “Look, I have plenty of issues. But, if you let me, I’ll help. Maybe it will take time. But I’ll be here…..for however long you want. All you have to do is let me in.”
Instead of pulling away like before, she moved into him, kissing him deeply. His arousal was quick and fierce. He didn’t need to be told that vulnerability brought out his protective instincts, he needed, wanted, desired to be needed. So did she. Often those with the most trauma need it, need to know someone else needs them.
Later, as they lay upon the meditation mat, she started to gather up the remnants of her clothes, to go like she always did during the night, but he reached out to grab her.
“Stay.”
“On the fucking cold mat?”
“Yes, no, I mean…..stay here……with me.”
She paused, “Do you care what they say?”
“No. Not really. Not anymore. You?”
“I never did.” She drops the torn tights. “If you really mean it, you need to prove it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You are always so fucking in control. Except in a battle.”
“You mean……”
“Yes. If you mean it, stop it. I’ll be in your shower. If you want to, join me in there. And then you 
fucking prove it.”
He sat there thinking, weighing the risks. Not about whether he wanted her to stay, that wasn’t even a thought, but whether he could let loose, and not really, really hurt her.
“Fuck it.” He entered the shower, and he was ready. He grabbed her, slamming her against the tiled wall, his body darkening, the skin roughening to a consistency more in line with reptilian scales.
She gasped, breath rushing out, his senses picking up her quickened pulse, the rapidity of her beating heart, the pain and slight fear tinting her arousal with a bouquet of scents that drove him wild, and as she wrapped her legs around his hips, he thrust rapidly and brutally into her, the motions reflective of animalistic need, not foreplay and loving caress.
His eyes glowed with the gold of his animalistic enhancements, and her screams combined pain and pleasure into one. He drove his forked tongue deep into her mouth, tasting her moans. As she quickly climaxed, she bit down on his tongue, blood seeping out into her mouth, the pain on a very sensitive organ, surprising him and causing him to release control with a deep thrust.
As she collapsed into his massive strength, she chuckled low, “I like it. A lot. Now, let’s see what you can really fucking do…..and what this lily white body can take. You want me to stay….bloody fucking make me, you god damn snake.”
Vacation turned into a Staycation. It took hours to repair the damage to the room. It took more hours to provide the rest of the base with a nice film of sweat and bodily fluids, much to the disgust of the rest of the team.
Last Dreams 