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acroamatica.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Sep. 7th, 2004 10:38 am)Title: 101 Things To Do In Zero Gravity
Status: WIP - Part 10/?
Author: Pip of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
acroamatica
Pairing: BB/DM
Rating: R
Summary: A wee little space opera in the classic style, with added Hobbity goodness. Obviously rather future AU - begins in June 2087, in fact, slightly before the events depicted in Sniper 470.
Content/Warning: MEGA angst, language, adult themes. Needles. (Ven, will have version for you ASAP.)
Spoilers: Sniper 470 (note: You don't need to have seen it, but it helps.)
Disclaimer: If I told you I owned them, that this was all real, and that I was making loadsamoney writing about it, would you believe me? Because I would find that very entertaining. I don't own Sniper 470 or anything connected with it either.
Author's Notes: Forwater_vole, who is brill. Happy September to all. Hopefully this will go a bit faster in future, now my life returns to "normal".
Previous chapters: [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9]
Chapter 10
It was comparatively slow going out of the Belt. Dom, to his disgust, had had to slow down almost immediately, his blind rescuer-heroism having happily glossed over the fact that space hereabouts was distressingly full of rocks.
Nothing but rocks, though, rocks and the couple of ASDF fighter sleds buzzing about Perseus like worker bees. No sign of any Coalition activity whatsoever, not even on the long-range. Very quiet.
Too quiet.
Dom didn't like it. Every nerve in his Firm-trained brain was on edge, paranoia pushing him to see traps even if, by some miracle, there were none. Perhaps there weren't. But it just didn't seem likely.
He cracked a highly distracted CIntDef, hoping to glean some sense of the possible triggers. There had to be one or two things he ought to avoid doing. Other than, obviously, flying unescorted from the Belt to Earth, but there wasn't much way around that. It all depended on how much they could predict his movements - and that all depended on the information they had.
So, the question of the hour became, what did they know - or think they knew - about him?
He was somewhat shocked to find that the answer was nearly nothing. He'd busted into their brand-new, state-of-the-art base, shot a good dozen or so of their troops, and made off with their only prisoner; all this had been done under the eyes of what should have been one of the most sophisticated security systems he'd ever encountered. Clearly, though, Aureen had done a bang-up job of mucking about with their cameras, as he'd instructed. Eyewitness reports were few, and hilariously inconsistent as such things invariably were. Even in his best disguises, he'd have had trouble pulling off "6'+/-3", 12st, dark-haired, dark-eyed". And, though he had been bemoaning the fact until now, he had been too distracted to bother with a facial disguise of any kind at all - which was deplorable in a Firm analyst, but it hadn't been meant to matter, according to the original plan. But apparently, given the ineffable madness of humans, he had done the right thing after all. If he had gone brunet-and-brown, he decided, they'd likely have remembered him exactly the way he really looked.
They knew nothing about Aureen, either. There had been a couple of confused reports that had made him out to be the pilot of some sort of high-powered asteroid - perhaps a custom job, one of them suggested, made from an actual asteroid. The idea amused Dom, even while he remembered with a twinge of jealousy that, actually, the ASDF didn't have the technology to do that sort of thing, and it was a relatively natural assumption for a soldier in the Coalition, which did. Still. She was a custom job. And a damned fine one, at that, he thought proudly, patting the top of his terminal.
They didn't even have his computer data, though that was a little less of a surprise. He'd been careful about that all along. His hacking programs could go right back into place - and did - without a hitch. That was good. With all of space ahead of him and two days to kill, there were a couple of things he suddenly felt extremely inclined to hunt out.
The file wasn't exactly where he had expected, and in fact turned out to be buried extremely deep in private files, which made him nod in something like pleasure. Anyone who could hide it that well was likely an old pro. And young punks were often inventive and therefore difficult to predict and even more difficult to bring down, but there was something special about beating an old pro at his own game.
Little by little, he removed the heavy layer of security clearances on the file.
And then sat there and looked at it, and wondered if, really, he wouldn't be far better off just destroying it without ever knowing.
But it wasn't in Dom to refuse potentially useful - hell, potentially lifesaving - knowledge, and he opened it, with a furtive glance over one shoulder to assure that Billy was still out. It would be more than a mistake to let Billy know he knew anything, at least at this point. But he needed to know.
Date:xx.xx.xx
(capture +3.38)
Subject arrived at Gamma. Phys. cond. good, min. blood loss. Blood analysis: trace zeptolefan (10cc admin. by capture force), trace ethanol (subject consumed ?cc in last 24hrs). Administered 25cc sudamil IV (ETE 6hrs), 100cc water orally. Admitted to Gamma brig, full restraint available but not used. Results of body search: One (1) set standard ASDF fatigues, one (1) set ASDF ID tags under name Boyd, Billy. ASDF records state rank of gunner. No concealed weapons. Subject's spacesuit and transceiver destroyed.
(capture +9.16)
Subject awakened. Disoriented but resistant to guards. Subject refused to tell me his name; restrained subject and administered 10cc pavreltenol IV. Phys response: elevated pulse, uncontrolled thrashing (guards moved to restrain subject), screaming. Physical force was necessary to subdue subject. Administered a further 10cc pavreltenol, admitted to knowing subject's name. Subject remained uncooperative. Administered 10cc, 10cc, 25cc pavreltenol. Subject asked to stop but would supply no information. Administered 10cc pavreltenol. Subject lost consciousness.
Dom felt sick. But he couldn't stop reading.
(capture +13.42)
Subject regained consciousness. Continued to withhold all information. Administered 15cc perflaxadine IV. Subject briefly became friendly and relaxed before throwing off the effects and returning to former obstinacy. Refused another dose perflaxadine. Mentioned (possible lover?) "Domi" but nothing more on topic.
Dom went cold all over. But Billy hadn't told. Couldn't have. That would definitely have made it into the report.
Phys response: elevated pulse, muscle relaxation, slurring words. Administered 10cc comprazalin IV. Phys response to comprazalin alone: heightened touch-sensitivity, slight arousal (due to sensitivity). Phys response to combined effects perflaxadine/comprazalin: orgasm, emotional instability, nausea, vomiting. Subject was incapable of supplying information. Removed restraints and left subject to sleep.
His hands shook as he brought them up to his face, swallowing hard against his rising gorge. That was rape, that was, or sexual assault at the very least. That... was because he'd not been fast enough to save Billy, and Billy had been taken, and drugged, and hurt, and... and oh, sweet Christ, he was going to be so very fucked-up when he woke, and there was nothing Dom would be able to do, and Dom hated more than anything to be powerless to help, but didn't it just fit? Didn't it just? He'd been so fucking useless all along, after all - why change anything now?
He couldn't even look at Billy. The shame and grief and rage would strangle him, he was sure. All he could do was try to steady his breathing - he wouldn't cry, he wouldn't, he wouldn't - and keep reading. Because there was more. They hadn't hurt his Billy enough.
(capture +20.56)
Woke subject while replacing restraints. Subject refused to speak at all. Administered 10cc comprazalin; began scalpel treatment. Subject maintained silence throughout.
"Good on you, Bills," Dom murmured, his deep shame momentarily overwhelmed by an incredible pride in his lover. "I'll bet that sent them spare."
Administered a further 10cc comprazalin to ensure maximum sensitivity, then administered 2cc medical alcohol spray to right hand. Phys response: significant pain, elevated pulse, irregular breathing, perspiration. Administered 2cc alcohol to right hand, 6cc to general torso area. Phys response: as above, also tears. Subject conditionally consented to provide information.
"Aw, Billy," Dom whispered, knowing how much that had to have cost.
Asked subject about ASDF gunner station sensor capabilities. Subject claimed all long-range data came from ASDF Command, not from individual gunners; when asked about sensor capabilities of ASDF Command, subject claimed to know nothing. Physical force became necessary, though subject maintained ignorance. Administered 10cc medical alcohol spray to torso, arms, and face. Phys response: convulsions, elevated pulse, irregular breathing, some screaming. Subject struck back of head against metal wall panelling during convulsion, with sufficient force to cause unconsciousness and probable concussion. Left subject unconscious in cell, under supervision by brig guards.
"The fuckers," Dom breathed, and had to fight tears again. "They just left you like that..."
The file ended there, which was a mercy; Dom didn't think he could have stood to read any more. It was so cold, so clinical that he could almost totally dissociate "subject" from any actual humanity. "Subject" could have been anyone, anything, no-one at all. No-one real.
Except that "subject" was only too real, and was strapped down to the sleeping couch, his pretty features still marred by bruising - and now Dom understood the purple blooms on his neck, oh yes - and Dom didn't know how he'd ever be able to touch Billy again, knowing what had happened. It wasn't that he didn't want to; he wanted nothing more than to be able to hold Billy close, kiss him and cuddle him and be clung to in return, stroke his skin and ruffle his hair and say without speaking how very much he was loved. But how could he now? What if he hurt Billy? What if he did something that touched the wrong nerve, and Billy was frightened or disgusted or wounded? It was too dangerous to do anything to try to help heal the one he loved.
Anything except getting him home, far away from anyone who could ever hurt him.
He needed a distraction, or he was going to start crying, and if he started, he knew he'd be unlikely to be able to stop for quite some time. He couldn't afford that. Instead, he packaged up the report and sent it off to the Firm. Then he turned his attention to the original.
Carefully, slowly, like a spider weaving the ins and outs of a particularly complicated web, he added line after line of internal system code to the security clearances. That would block further additions; that would forbid saving or archival; that would prevent access by anyone with less security clearance than God - basically, anyone who wasn't Dom; that would make it all look like a system error, a corruption of data. There was certainly enough of that going on naturally.
During the three days he had missed aboard Perseus, the ASDF had been busy. A veritable phalanx of ships, nearly everything spaceworthy, had been dispatched to the Belt post-haste, and had managed to keep the Coalition convoys checkmated. No more Snipers had been harmed. The one stranded gunner with the badly shot-up station had been collected and whisked off home for some badly needed R&R. The Cbase had been surrounded and blockaded until they could figure out what to do with it; quickly, Dom threw together a list of the weak points he'd identified and used in his own one-man invasion, and fired it off to the Firm. Maybe that would set the right pair of uniform trousers on fire. They couldn't leave it alone for much longer before buying themselves a pack of trouble, that was for certain. It didn't do to give the enemy time to prepare for one's arrival.
But at the very least, they'd been playing merry hell with the Coalition computers. Someone who knew what they were doing had been generating enough electromagnetic waves to ensure that nothing computerised on the Cbase would work properly, though none of the saved data would be affected. It was a damned good idea, Dom thought.
There was only one problem with it. He realised he'd been lucky to be able to access the file he'd wanted. Much of the rest of the CIntDef database was, at least temporarily, unavailable to anyone at all. He wondered whose idea it had been. Maybe Wood's; he'd think of something like that, an external solution rather than an internal one. Dom would just have gone in and fiddled with the security files. Still, whatever worked. And it did. It was just clumsy, that was all.
He needed something to do anyway; he fired off a quick note to the Firm, knowing they wouldn't object to being the only ones with access to the Coalition databases, and began to work with the things he could get at. Anything, no matter how irrelevant it seemed, was wrapped in code, rendered inert, and set carefully aside for later study, like a captured animal or a defused bomb. The rest, he mapped carefully, making sure he knew exactly where defended territory ended, and wrote a few things that he thought might see to most of it.
As the stars sped by outside and the numbers on the clock readout flicked steadily onwards, he typed and clicked and scrolled, typed and clicked and scrolled, over and over in a soothing sequence. Everything narrowed down to the small, solvable problems on the screen in front of him.
And then there was a rustle of fabric, and a sleepy, disoriented sort of noise, and Dom's calm shattered as he spun his chair around to see that somehow nearly ten hours had gone by, and Billy was awake.
After a fashion, anyhow. His eyes opened briefly and closed again without focusing. He made another of those unintelligible sounds, and it might for all the world have been any morning after a long night and not nearly enough sleep, Billy well below the threshold of coherency until someone brought him coffee. Dom reached out and touched a fingertip to his cheek.
"Hey, love," he said softly. "How are you feeling?"
He didn't really expect an answer. It was just something to say. Billy didn't even seem to have heard him, and Dom doubted he'd really been truly conscious; his breathing evened out again and Dom knew he was asleep.
But if he did remember - if he had heard - Dom felt better for having made his presence known.
He stayed by the sleeping couch for some time, watching and waiting for another brief flash of consciousness, but Billy stayed well under. Eventually, Dom was able to bear to leave him and go back to his coding. Still, he remained hyper-alert to any deviation in the gentle, steady breathing.
He'd calculated about a thirty-five hour journey to Mars, plus another thirteen or so to get to Armstrong. He'd hoped to make it to the halfway point of the Mars leg under his own steam, leaving him three heavy stims to spread over less than thirty hours. By the twelve-hour mark, though, he knew he'd overestimated himself, and by the fourteen-hour mark things were starting to blur so badly that he was afraid if he put it off any longer he'd not be able to see well enough to find a vein. With a certain resignation, he drew out the medical kit and dosed himself.
He counted five beats. Then it hit him right between the eyes, as though someone had dropped a remarkably heavy but much-needed pair of spectacles onto his face, snapping the world into brighter, crisper focus. Energy surged through him in a shiver, and his heartbeat picked up.
He gave a low whistle of appreciation. The stuff wasn't bad.
But once the visceral thrill of the initial rush wore off, it made him think of the other medkit, the much more standard one that Cate had given him for Billy. Aboard Perseus, she had put Billy on a low but continuous dosage of painkiller, mixed with sedatives, to keep him from feeling anything that would make him move in his sleep and drag at the healing cuts. It had worked very well, and he had knit sufficiently that she'd told Dom he wouldn't have to keep Billy sedated if he didn't feel there was a need to. She had, however, sent along a good supply of the painkiller, noting that he would be much more comfortable if Dom saw to it that he stayed high. It had been a long time - surely it was time for another dose?
Carefully, bracing himself with an ankle hooked around one of the couch supports, he eased Billy's left wrist free of its restraint. He cupped Billy's hand in his, making his lover's hand into a loose fist, and bent the arm at the elbow.
Billy stirred slightly. Dom froze, not wanting to wake Billy if he needed to sleep, but he didn't seem on the brink of consciousness, and after a time, Dom thought it was safe to continue.
By now, the vein was nicely obvious through Billy's fair skin. Dom was confident in his medical skills, at least as far as this sort of thing; he lined the tip of the needle up along the path of the vein, and without hesitation, slid it in.
As the point pierced his skin, Billy's eyes flew open, wide and panicked, and he took a breath that was almost a gasp.
I've made a mistake, Dom thought dimly. Oh, fuck, but I've bollocksed this one up royally now...
"Bills," he said quickly. "Bills, it's only painkiller. I have the needle. It's okay."
But Billy's breathing speeded up, became harsher, from mere panic to outright terror.
"No," he whimpered. "No. No. Please."
Dom pressed the plunger as fast as he dared. "It's almost over," he soothed. "This will help you to feel better."
"No - please, no - please -"
The look in his eyes stabbed Dom to the core, begging him mutely, don't hurt me, please don't hurt me anymore, just take the needle away.
He doesn't know where he is, Dom realised. He doesn't know me. He doesn't know me.
"Billy - Billy, it's me," he said, hating the desperation in his own voice, that was supposed to have been calm. "Billy, it's Dom - it's only your Dommie. I'm here with you."
"Dom?" Through the pain came a flicker of puzzlement - but then, a horrible resignation. "No. Not here. You can't be."
Dom wanted to laugh, but it felt too hysterical for him to allow it. "Of course I am, Bills - you're not dreaming. You're aboard the Aureen. You're safe. We're going home, love - home!"
"Love." The word, on Billy's lips, was so sweet and so longed-for that tears stung Dom's eyes. And then: "No. You don't."
"What?" Dom said, baffled. "I don't what?"
"Love me."
This time Dom did laugh, a harsh sound that owed more to sobs than merriment. "Oh, Billy - aw, Bills, Bills, my Billy, how can you doubt it?"
"You. Hurting me. Hurt me. With - with sharp." Betrayal and anger lit in the green eyes. "Fucking sharp. Take it out, f'Chrissakes, take it out!" He tried to move his arm, but Dom was faster and had it braced in moments.
"There," Dom said matter-of-factly, feeling the plunger hit bottom and pulling it gently free. He placed his thumb over the small bloody spot at the puncture and held on. "That's it. You should feel it come on directly."
Billy's eyes darted to either side, as though looking for an escape. "No, Dom - oh, Christ, Dom - please, fuck, Dom, no - no, leave me alone... not you too..."
"No," Dom said frantically, seeing where this was going. "No, Billy, it's not like that! I don't want to hurt you! I'm not like -" His stomach turned, remembering the reports, and he had to swallow hard. "Not like them. Not like that. I'm not, Billy. I love you. You know that."
"You can't." The fires were suddenly drowned in liquid, no easier to tolerate. "You can't."
"I do," Dom insisted. "I do."
In his head, suddenly, he heard Cate: "He's concussed, remember, Dom? He could be highly irrational when he wakes."
Highly irrational, he repeated to himself. That's all this is. This is the head injury talking. Not my Billy.
"Hush now," he soothed. Billy's eyes were starting to slip shut; clearly the drugs had hit him hard. "I love you, Billy. I do. And when you wake up you'll remember that. You will. I know you will."
"Don't touch me," Billy slurred angrily. "Don't. Get 'way, y' cunt. You an' 'er fuckin' sharp. And fuckin' drugs - fucking drugs."
"Shh," Dom said, closing his own eyes - but more to hide the tears that threatened than to set a good example. "Hush, my love, my Billy."
"Fuck you, Dom," Billy mumbled. "Get 'way f'm me."
Dom dropped Billy's arm, retreating a few feet.
"Shh, Billy, love," he said again. It was all he could coax from his reeling mind.
He doesn't mean it, he told himself firmly. He can't. He doesn't. He'll wake up and he'll be himself again, and he'll know. He doesn't hate me - how could he? I love him. He'll know that. He'll know.
Won't he?
What if he blames me? For all that pain, all that's been done to him... what if - and I know he's hurting, fuck, yes, and what do I do, I go and hurt him some more... fuckwit of a Monaghan, I should have known about needles, why didn't I just fucking think for once? Sweet Christ, but I'm useless... I couldn't save him the first time, why in the hell did I think I was able to take care of him this time?
Because I had to, that's why. Because no-one else could. Because I fucking love him, and I couldn't just give up and leave him, not when I had a chance to get him home, where he can recover all the way, for real.
Maybe, when he wakes... maybe I can make him understand that, at least.
As hopes went, it wasn't much to cling to. And to have it demoted from a certainty of earth-moving proportions to only, merely, a hope...?
But it would have to do. He had a long way yet to fly.
Status: WIP - Part 10/?
Author: Pip of
acroamaticaPairing: BB/DM
Rating: R
Summary: A wee little space opera in the classic style, with added Hobbity goodness. Obviously rather future AU - begins in June 2087, in fact, slightly before the events depicted in Sniper 470.
Content/Warning: MEGA angst, language, adult themes. Needles. (Ven, will have version for you ASAP.)
Spoilers: Sniper 470 (note: You don't need to have seen it, but it helps.)
Disclaimer: If I told you I owned them, that this was all real, and that I was making loadsamoney writing about it, would you believe me? Because I would find that very entertaining. I don't own Sniper 470 or anything connected with it either.
Author's Notes: For
water_vole, who is brill. Happy September to all. Hopefully this will go a bit faster in future, now my life returns to "normal".Previous chapters: [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9]
Chapter 10
It was comparatively slow going out of the Belt. Dom, to his disgust, had had to slow down almost immediately, his blind rescuer-heroism having happily glossed over the fact that space hereabouts was distressingly full of rocks.
Nothing but rocks, though, rocks and the couple of ASDF fighter sleds buzzing about Perseus like worker bees. No sign of any Coalition activity whatsoever, not even on the long-range. Very quiet.
Too quiet.
Dom didn't like it. Every nerve in his Firm-trained brain was on edge, paranoia pushing him to see traps even if, by some miracle, there were none. Perhaps there weren't. But it just didn't seem likely.
He cracked a highly distracted CIntDef, hoping to glean some sense of the possible triggers. There had to be one or two things he ought to avoid doing. Other than, obviously, flying unescorted from the Belt to Earth, but there wasn't much way around that. It all depended on how much they could predict his movements - and that all depended on the information they had.
So, the question of the hour became, what did they know - or think they knew - about him?
He was somewhat shocked to find that the answer was nearly nothing. He'd busted into their brand-new, state-of-the-art base, shot a good dozen or so of their troops, and made off with their only prisoner; all this had been done under the eyes of what should have been one of the most sophisticated security systems he'd ever encountered. Clearly, though, Aureen had done a bang-up job of mucking about with their cameras, as he'd instructed. Eyewitness reports were few, and hilariously inconsistent as such things invariably were. Even in his best disguises, he'd have had trouble pulling off "6'+/-3", 12st, dark-haired, dark-eyed". And, though he had been bemoaning the fact until now, he had been too distracted to bother with a facial disguise of any kind at all - which was deplorable in a Firm analyst, but it hadn't been meant to matter, according to the original plan. But apparently, given the ineffable madness of humans, he had done the right thing after all. If he had gone brunet-and-brown, he decided, they'd likely have remembered him exactly the way he really looked.
They knew nothing about Aureen, either. There had been a couple of confused reports that had made him out to be the pilot of some sort of high-powered asteroid - perhaps a custom job, one of them suggested, made from an actual asteroid. The idea amused Dom, even while he remembered with a twinge of jealousy that, actually, the ASDF didn't have the technology to do that sort of thing, and it was a relatively natural assumption for a soldier in the Coalition, which did. Still. She was a custom job. And a damned fine one, at that, he thought proudly, patting the top of his terminal.
They didn't even have his computer data, though that was a little less of a surprise. He'd been careful about that all along. His hacking programs could go right back into place - and did - without a hitch. That was good. With all of space ahead of him and two days to kill, there were a couple of things he suddenly felt extremely inclined to hunt out.
The file wasn't exactly where he had expected, and in fact turned out to be buried extremely deep in private files, which made him nod in something like pleasure. Anyone who could hide it that well was likely an old pro. And young punks were often inventive and therefore difficult to predict and even more difficult to bring down, but there was something special about beating an old pro at his own game.
Little by little, he removed the heavy layer of security clearances on the file.
And then sat there and looked at it, and wondered if, really, he wouldn't be far better off just destroying it without ever knowing.
But it wasn't in Dom to refuse potentially useful - hell, potentially lifesaving - knowledge, and he opened it, with a furtive glance over one shoulder to assure that Billy was still out. It would be more than a mistake to let Billy know he knew anything, at least at this point. But he needed to know.
Date:xx.xx.xx
(capture +3.38)
Subject arrived at Gamma. Phys. cond. good, min. blood loss. Blood analysis: trace zeptolefan (10cc admin. by capture force), trace ethanol (subject consumed ?cc in last 24hrs). Administered 25cc sudamil IV (ETE 6hrs), 100cc water orally. Admitted to Gamma brig, full restraint available but not used. Results of body search: One (1) set standard ASDF fatigues, one (1) set ASDF ID tags under name Boyd, Billy. ASDF records state rank of gunner. No concealed weapons. Subject's spacesuit and transceiver destroyed.
(capture +9.16)
Subject awakened. Disoriented but resistant to guards. Subject refused to tell me his name; restrained subject and administered 10cc pavreltenol IV. Phys response: elevated pulse, uncontrolled thrashing (guards moved to restrain subject), screaming. Physical force was necessary to subdue subject. Administered a further 10cc pavreltenol, admitted to knowing subject's name. Subject remained uncooperative. Administered 10cc, 10cc, 25cc pavreltenol. Subject asked to stop but would supply no information. Administered 10cc pavreltenol. Subject lost consciousness.
Dom felt sick. But he couldn't stop reading.
(capture +13.42)
Subject regained consciousness. Continued to withhold all information. Administered 15cc perflaxadine IV. Subject briefly became friendly and relaxed before throwing off the effects and returning to former obstinacy. Refused another dose perflaxadine. Mentioned (possible lover?) "Domi" but nothing more on topic.
Dom went cold all over. But Billy hadn't told. Couldn't have. That would definitely have made it into the report.
Phys response: elevated pulse, muscle relaxation, slurring words. Administered 10cc comprazalin IV. Phys response to comprazalin alone: heightened touch-sensitivity, slight arousal (due to sensitivity). Phys response to combined effects perflaxadine/comprazalin: orgasm, emotional instability, nausea, vomiting. Subject was incapable of supplying information. Removed restraints and left subject to sleep.
His hands shook as he brought them up to his face, swallowing hard against his rising gorge. That was rape, that was, or sexual assault at the very least. That... was because he'd not been fast enough to save Billy, and Billy had been taken, and drugged, and hurt, and... and oh, sweet Christ, he was going to be so very fucked-up when he woke, and there was nothing Dom would be able to do, and Dom hated more than anything to be powerless to help, but didn't it just fit? Didn't it just? He'd been so fucking useless all along, after all - why change anything now?
He couldn't even look at Billy. The shame and grief and rage would strangle him, he was sure. All he could do was try to steady his breathing - he wouldn't cry, he wouldn't, he wouldn't - and keep reading. Because there was more. They hadn't hurt his Billy enough.
(capture +20.56)
Woke subject while replacing restraints. Subject refused to speak at all. Administered 10cc comprazalin; began scalpel treatment. Subject maintained silence throughout.
"Good on you, Bills," Dom murmured, his deep shame momentarily overwhelmed by an incredible pride in his lover. "I'll bet that sent them spare."
Administered a further 10cc comprazalin to ensure maximum sensitivity, then administered 2cc medical alcohol spray to right hand. Phys response: significant pain, elevated pulse, irregular breathing, perspiration. Administered 2cc alcohol to right hand, 6cc to general torso area. Phys response: as above, also tears. Subject conditionally consented to provide information.
"Aw, Billy," Dom whispered, knowing how much that had to have cost.
Asked subject about ASDF gunner station sensor capabilities. Subject claimed all long-range data came from ASDF Command, not from individual gunners; when asked about sensor capabilities of ASDF Command, subject claimed to know nothing. Physical force became necessary, though subject maintained ignorance. Administered 10cc medical alcohol spray to torso, arms, and face. Phys response: convulsions, elevated pulse, irregular breathing, some screaming. Subject struck back of head against metal wall panelling during convulsion, with sufficient force to cause unconsciousness and probable concussion. Left subject unconscious in cell, under supervision by brig guards.
"The fuckers," Dom breathed, and had to fight tears again. "They just left you like that..."
The file ended there, which was a mercy; Dom didn't think he could have stood to read any more. It was so cold, so clinical that he could almost totally dissociate "subject" from any actual humanity. "Subject" could have been anyone, anything, no-one at all. No-one real.
Except that "subject" was only too real, and was strapped down to the sleeping couch, his pretty features still marred by bruising - and now Dom understood the purple blooms on his neck, oh yes - and Dom didn't know how he'd ever be able to touch Billy again, knowing what had happened. It wasn't that he didn't want to; he wanted nothing more than to be able to hold Billy close, kiss him and cuddle him and be clung to in return, stroke his skin and ruffle his hair and say without speaking how very much he was loved. But how could he now? What if he hurt Billy? What if he did something that touched the wrong nerve, and Billy was frightened or disgusted or wounded? It was too dangerous to do anything to try to help heal the one he loved.
Anything except getting him home, far away from anyone who could ever hurt him.
He needed a distraction, or he was going to start crying, and if he started, he knew he'd be unlikely to be able to stop for quite some time. He couldn't afford that. Instead, he packaged up the report and sent it off to the Firm. Then he turned his attention to the original.
Carefully, slowly, like a spider weaving the ins and outs of a particularly complicated web, he added line after line of internal system code to the security clearances. That would block further additions; that would forbid saving or archival; that would prevent access by anyone with less security clearance than God - basically, anyone who wasn't Dom; that would make it all look like a system error, a corruption of data. There was certainly enough of that going on naturally.
During the three days he had missed aboard Perseus, the ASDF had been busy. A veritable phalanx of ships, nearly everything spaceworthy, had been dispatched to the Belt post-haste, and had managed to keep the Coalition convoys checkmated. No more Snipers had been harmed. The one stranded gunner with the badly shot-up station had been collected and whisked off home for some badly needed R&R. The Cbase had been surrounded and blockaded until they could figure out what to do with it; quickly, Dom threw together a list of the weak points he'd identified and used in his own one-man invasion, and fired it off to the Firm. Maybe that would set the right pair of uniform trousers on fire. They couldn't leave it alone for much longer before buying themselves a pack of trouble, that was for certain. It didn't do to give the enemy time to prepare for one's arrival.
But at the very least, they'd been playing merry hell with the Coalition computers. Someone who knew what they were doing had been generating enough electromagnetic waves to ensure that nothing computerised on the Cbase would work properly, though none of the saved data would be affected. It was a damned good idea, Dom thought.
There was only one problem with it. He realised he'd been lucky to be able to access the file he'd wanted. Much of the rest of the CIntDef database was, at least temporarily, unavailable to anyone at all. He wondered whose idea it had been. Maybe Wood's; he'd think of something like that, an external solution rather than an internal one. Dom would just have gone in and fiddled with the security files. Still, whatever worked. And it did. It was just clumsy, that was all.
He needed something to do anyway; he fired off a quick note to the Firm, knowing they wouldn't object to being the only ones with access to the Coalition databases, and began to work with the things he could get at. Anything, no matter how irrelevant it seemed, was wrapped in code, rendered inert, and set carefully aside for later study, like a captured animal or a defused bomb. The rest, he mapped carefully, making sure he knew exactly where defended territory ended, and wrote a few things that he thought might see to most of it.
As the stars sped by outside and the numbers on the clock readout flicked steadily onwards, he typed and clicked and scrolled, typed and clicked and scrolled, over and over in a soothing sequence. Everything narrowed down to the small, solvable problems on the screen in front of him.
And then there was a rustle of fabric, and a sleepy, disoriented sort of noise, and Dom's calm shattered as he spun his chair around to see that somehow nearly ten hours had gone by, and Billy was awake.
After a fashion, anyhow. His eyes opened briefly and closed again without focusing. He made another of those unintelligible sounds, and it might for all the world have been any morning after a long night and not nearly enough sleep, Billy well below the threshold of coherency until someone brought him coffee. Dom reached out and touched a fingertip to his cheek.
"Hey, love," he said softly. "How are you feeling?"
He didn't really expect an answer. It was just something to say. Billy didn't even seem to have heard him, and Dom doubted he'd really been truly conscious; his breathing evened out again and Dom knew he was asleep.
But if he did remember - if he had heard - Dom felt better for having made his presence known.
He stayed by the sleeping couch for some time, watching and waiting for another brief flash of consciousness, but Billy stayed well under. Eventually, Dom was able to bear to leave him and go back to his coding. Still, he remained hyper-alert to any deviation in the gentle, steady breathing.
He'd calculated about a thirty-five hour journey to Mars, plus another thirteen or so to get to Armstrong. He'd hoped to make it to the halfway point of the Mars leg under his own steam, leaving him three heavy stims to spread over less than thirty hours. By the twelve-hour mark, though, he knew he'd overestimated himself, and by the fourteen-hour mark things were starting to blur so badly that he was afraid if he put it off any longer he'd not be able to see well enough to find a vein. With a certain resignation, he drew out the medical kit and dosed himself.
He counted five beats. Then it hit him right between the eyes, as though someone had dropped a remarkably heavy but much-needed pair of spectacles onto his face, snapping the world into brighter, crisper focus. Energy surged through him in a shiver, and his heartbeat picked up.
He gave a low whistle of appreciation. The stuff wasn't bad.
But once the visceral thrill of the initial rush wore off, it made him think of the other medkit, the much more standard one that Cate had given him for Billy. Aboard Perseus, she had put Billy on a low but continuous dosage of painkiller, mixed with sedatives, to keep him from feeling anything that would make him move in his sleep and drag at the healing cuts. It had worked very well, and he had knit sufficiently that she'd told Dom he wouldn't have to keep Billy sedated if he didn't feel there was a need to. She had, however, sent along a good supply of the painkiller, noting that he would be much more comfortable if Dom saw to it that he stayed high. It had been a long time - surely it was time for another dose?
Carefully, bracing himself with an ankle hooked around one of the couch supports, he eased Billy's left wrist free of its restraint. He cupped Billy's hand in his, making his lover's hand into a loose fist, and bent the arm at the elbow.
Billy stirred slightly. Dom froze, not wanting to wake Billy if he needed to sleep, but he didn't seem on the brink of consciousness, and after a time, Dom thought it was safe to continue.
By now, the vein was nicely obvious through Billy's fair skin. Dom was confident in his medical skills, at least as far as this sort of thing; he lined the tip of the needle up along the path of the vein, and without hesitation, slid it in.
As the point pierced his skin, Billy's eyes flew open, wide and panicked, and he took a breath that was almost a gasp.
I've made a mistake, Dom thought dimly. Oh, fuck, but I've bollocksed this one up royally now...
"Bills," he said quickly. "Bills, it's only painkiller. I have the needle. It's okay."
But Billy's breathing speeded up, became harsher, from mere panic to outright terror.
"No," he whimpered. "No. No. Please."
Dom pressed the plunger as fast as he dared. "It's almost over," he soothed. "This will help you to feel better."
"No - please, no - please -"
The look in his eyes stabbed Dom to the core, begging him mutely, don't hurt me, please don't hurt me anymore, just take the needle away.
He doesn't know where he is, Dom realised. He doesn't know me. He doesn't know me.
"Billy - Billy, it's me," he said, hating the desperation in his own voice, that was supposed to have been calm. "Billy, it's Dom - it's only your Dommie. I'm here with you."
"Dom?" Through the pain came a flicker of puzzlement - but then, a horrible resignation. "No. Not here. You can't be."
Dom wanted to laugh, but it felt too hysterical for him to allow it. "Of course I am, Bills - you're not dreaming. You're aboard the Aureen. You're safe. We're going home, love - home!"
"Love." The word, on Billy's lips, was so sweet and so longed-for that tears stung Dom's eyes. And then: "No. You don't."
"What?" Dom said, baffled. "I don't what?"
"Love me."
This time Dom did laugh, a harsh sound that owed more to sobs than merriment. "Oh, Billy - aw, Bills, Bills, my Billy, how can you doubt it?"
"You. Hurting me. Hurt me. With - with sharp." Betrayal and anger lit in the green eyes. "Fucking sharp. Take it out, f'Chrissakes, take it out!" He tried to move his arm, but Dom was faster and had it braced in moments.
"There," Dom said matter-of-factly, feeling the plunger hit bottom and pulling it gently free. He placed his thumb over the small bloody spot at the puncture and held on. "That's it. You should feel it come on directly."
Billy's eyes darted to either side, as though looking for an escape. "No, Dom - oh, Christ, Dom - please, fuck, Dom, no - no, leave me alone... not you too..."
"No," Dom said frantically, seeing where this was going. "No, Billy, it's not like that! I don't want to hurt you! I'm not like -" His stomach turned, remembering the reports, and he had to swallow hard. "Not like them. Not like that. I'm not, Billy. I love you. You know that."
"You can't." The fires were suddenly drowned in liquid, no easier to tolerate. "You can't."
"I do," Dom insisted. "I do."
In his head, suddenly, he heard Cate: "He's concussed, remember, Dom? He could be highly irrational when he wakes."
Highly irrational, he repeated to himself. That's all this is. This is the head injury talking. Not my Billy.
"Hush now," he soothed. Billy's eyes were starting to slip shut; clearly the drugs had hit him hard. "I love you, Billy. I do. And when you wake up you'll remember that. You will. I know you will."
"Don't touch me," Billy slurred angrily. "Don't. Get 'way, y' cunt. You an' 'er fuckin' sharp. And fuckin' drugs - fucking drugs."
"Shh," Dom said, closing his own eyes - but more to hide the tears that threatened than to set a good example. "Hush, my love, my Billy."
"Fuck you, Dom," Billy mumbled. "Get 'way f'm me."
Dom dropped Billy's arm, retreating a few feet.
"Shh, Billy, love," he said again. It was all he could coax from his reeling mind.
He doesn't mean it, he told himself firmly. He can't. He doesn't. He'll wake up and he'll be himself again, and he'll know. He doesn't hate me - how could he? I love him. He'll know that. He'll know.
Won't he?
What if he blames me? For all that pain, all that's been done to him... what if - and I know he's hurting, fuck, yes, and what do I do, I go and hurt him some more... fuckwit of a Monaghan, I should have known about needles, why didn't I just fucking think for once? Sweet Christ, but I'm useless... I couldn't save him the first time, why in the hell did I think I was able to take care of him this time?
Because I had to, that's why. Because no-one else could. Because I fucking love him, and I couldn't just give up and leave him, not when I had a chance to get him home, where he can recover all the way, for real.
Maybe, when he wakes... maybe I can make him understand that, at least.
As hopes went, it wasn't much to cling to. And to have it demoted from a certainty of earth-moving proportions to only, merely, a hope...?
But it would have to do. He had a long way yet to fly.
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Oh, and YOU, Pip. Well. Thank you for the dedication, it really made me eeee. But still. No more of this cliffhanger scary business. I want my happy-fluff. Ahem.
Seriously, though, thanks so much and wheeeee as well. I owe you an email and I haven't forgotten that! Yaye for (hopefully) regular updates and inspired inspiration!
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I have been waiting for this next chapter and here it is!!!!! Praise to the saints!!
I love your descriptions of Billy and Dom, they are so noble and heroic. Poor Billy, it seems to me that the torture only really hit home after he was out of there.
Next chapter!!! NOW! ::throws a rock::
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Not 101 Things To Do In Zero Gravity
Sorted!All this fuss you authors make,I don't know......
Not quite how you are going to write it,but then I have no talent,unlike your good selves who dangle us on a string,and we say thank you for it!That's talent.
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Really though, you are awesome and I love this story. It makes me happy at the end of a long hard day of lecture.
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Speaking of which, this chapter is soooo good! Poor Billy and POOR Dom!! Oh the guilt, the guilt! I think I've said this before, but I'll say it again, you write so beautifully! It's so painful to read while Dom is giving Billy the meds, and Billy is hallucinating and telling Dom to fuck off...please, please, please post the next chapter soon!!! What can I bribe you with?
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my poor lads. oh, pip, i implore you, make this end well. i don't think my poor sappy heart could take an unhappy ending.
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BILLEHHH! *cuddles inert billy* poor thing T___T; i don't know who i feel worse for, bills or dom. bwah!
and i just want to say, again, for the record - this is AMAZING sci fi. AMAAAAZZINNG! it's so perfect, SO incredibly believable, and gah <3 i love it. it's brilliant. sheer fucking brilliance. <3
keep up the good work :D
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I love the characterization you have going of Dom. So very focused and intent, and yet full of compassion and humour and a sort of sense of the ridiculousness of fate. Sort of how I imagine the real Dom to be.
Okay, that made no sense. Lemme sum up.
LOVED IT.
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V. excellent writing as always, can't wait for more! <3<3<3
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