#connor thompson | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

just-horrible-things · 6 days ago

Text

'Verse: Resistance, co-author @whump-sprite Timeline: Possibly-canon aside to Unlikely Salvation Sequence: Connor burned, pt3

Supplies [First | Prev]

Ari’s heart rate spikes at the sound of feet outside the storage-unit-shelter. Connor hears it too, or he picks up her tension. His body locks rigid. For a second he doesn’t breathe at all. Then a low moan of panic starts up in his throat.

“Shhh,” Ari hushes him, mouth moving without thought while all her attention tracks the footfalls to the door. It’s almost certainly Taryn. Almost certainly. The bolts move of their own accord. Well-practiced scenarios flick through the back of Ari’s mind, priming her body for movement. The door slides open.

Taryn steps inside.

Relief is a weight off Ari’s ribcage. She was 90% sure it would be Taryn. She saw no sign that she was followed or even noticed by the other warlocks. And boltholes like this don’t see a lot of random use. But the survival instinct in her was not 90% convinced.

She flashes a brief, tight smile at Taryn by way of greeting, then turns her attention back down to Connor. He’s shuddering violently, and if there was any awareness left in his eyes, it’s been smothered by the fresh panic. “It’s okay,” Ari tells him as gently as she can. “She’s not here to hurt you, no one’s gonna hurt you. Shh, sh, sh. It’s gonna be okay.” Hollow words, really. Even if he makes it, is he ever gonna be okay? But compared to what he’s expecting… it’s gonna be better than that.

Taryn has a big plastic box of supplies balanced on her hip like it weighs nothing. The smile in her eyes dies as she takes in the scene – Connor half in Ari’s lap, trying to hold onto her despite the damage to his arms. The swathe of blisters and weeping flesh and charred fabric up his front. His bare feet swollen, blood oozing from the cracked skin.

“Fuck,” Taryn says. “Fuck’s about right,” Ari echoes. She slides Connor’s head carefully off her leg and unhooks his blistered fingers from the hem of her shirt, as Taryn sets the supplies down. “It’s okay, I’m coming back.”

For a second, just a second, Ari ignores the supplies to put her arms round Taryn and squeeze tight. She’s pulling away again before Taryn can more than begin to hug her back, and Taryn looks concerned but she lets her go. “Thank you,” Ari breathes.

Then she’s on the supplies, rifling through Taryn’s offerings and taking stock with practiced efficiency. Taryn levitates the parts for the IV up to begin attaching tubes – but Connor cries out in hoarse fear. Ari’s head jerks up to see him trying to push himself up off the mattress – or maybe back toward the wall – with his eyes fixed on Taryn.

Taryn cuts her magic immediately, but it doesn’t calm him. He tries to use his legs, and makes himself scream, falling back with fingers twitching into claws. Ari scrambles to him. “Hey, no, be still, don’t panic, no one’s gonna hurt you. Stop moving, you’re safe –” “I won’t hurt you,” Taryn echoes, but it’s not clear if he can hear either of them. His face is a rictus of panic, eyes darting back and forth. With a temperature as high as his, god knows what he’s seeing.

“Hey. Hey.” Ari takes his face between her hands, trying to get him to still. “Look at me, Connor. I’m here to help. Focus on me. Just – breathe for me. Try to just breathe.” Shallow gasps are the best she gets, but at least he looks at her. His raw, terrified confusion sets something aching in Ari’s heart. “I’m here,” she promises, even knowing she’s hardly a friendly face. “I’m gonna help you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

As Taryn’s shadow falls over them, Connor recoils again, jerking his head away from Ari’s hands. “I won’t hurt you,” Taryn repeats, crouching down to be closer to their level. She has the morphine, and the syringe ready to fill. Ari reaches back for them without taking her attention off Conor. “Easy,” she cautions, afraid he’ll start struggling again. But he only screws up his face and chokes out another exhausted, miserable sound.

The way pain changes people has long since lost its power to shock. It’s just sad. The Connor Ari knew is gone, probably long gone. The one that exists now hates her and is afraid of her.

She eyeballs the dose of morphine. Connor’s bigger than most of her patients, both in height and muscle mass, but it’s unlikely he’s built up a tolerance. When she looks up from the syringe, Connor’s eyeing it with naked distrust. “Just morphine,” she tells him. “Nothing bad.” She shows him the bottle, not that there’s much point. She doubts he can see or think straight enough to read the label right now, and if he did he has no reason to trust the handwriting of a warlock.

“No,” he protests weakly as she reaches for his arm. “It’s morphine,” Ari repeats. “Just morphine. It’s not optional, but you’re gonna like it I promise.” It’s hard to find a place to hold onto his arm that isn’t at least a little burned. But his legs are worse. Ari can picture too clearly the way they were left exposed as he slumped against the back wall, too weak to draw them up away from the fire.

Her blood burns, and she has to take a deep breath to push down the sudden fury.

Connor holds reluctantly still, panting tiredly, while she prods at merely grimy and reddened skin, searching with her fingertips for a passable vein. But when she tries to line the needle up, he grits his teeth and jerks his arm away.

Ari exhales. “Connor, you want this.” She recognises the terrified, futile, stubborn defiance in his eyes. She’s been there. What does he think she’s trying to inject him with? Could be anything. “It’s morphine,” she repeats again, just in case the problem is understanding or holding onto her words. “Nothing bad, I swear. Don’t fight me on this. You’re not gonna win anyway.”

She tries again, and again he tries to squirm away. “Tare–” She doesn't have to finish the thought. Taryn's hand glows, and Connor's arm is pinned in place. He yells hoarsely in protest and tries to yank the limb free of the invisible force. When that doesn’t work, he thrashes. His feet kick against the mattress again, leaving smears of blood and burned tissue, and his voice cracks into nothingness as he screams.

Before Ari can so much as open her mouth again, Taryn's magic spreads to cover Connor’s whole body – visible to Ari only in the unnatural stillness that it enforces.

Beyond panicked, Connor starts to sob. “I'm sorry,” Ari tells him. “We're not gonna hurt you. I promise. We just want to help you.” But there's no getting through to him, and she's been there too. She slips the needle into his vein, sunken as it is from dehydration, and sits back to watch panic morph into shock and then desperate, uncomprehending relief as the drug sinks into his brain.

“How much have you given him?” Taryn asks softly. “Not… too much.” Ari grimaces. “I… want to get fluids set up. We can decide what to do after.” Taryn nods assent to the not-quite-question, and the approval settles Ari’s nerves.

There’s nothing Connor can do to stop her putting the cannula into his arm, though his eyes show clearly that he wants to. “Saline,” Ari tells him as she affixes the line. “To rehydrate you. Nothing bad, no drugs even.” He needs antibiotics too… if he’s going to live. But there’s time for that. A few more minutes won’t make a difference. “It's going to be okay,” she tells him. One way or another.

Sitting back onto her heels, she catches Taryn’s eye. A gesture with her head asks outside? Taryn nods agreement. They both look back at Connor, still trembling in the grip of Taryn’s magic. “Keep holding him, just for now?” Ari asks. “He’s going to hurt himself…” “Yeah.” “I’m coming back,” Ari informs Connor as she stands. “But I won’t hurt you then either. I’m here to help.”

Then she follows Taryn out into the quiet corridor between storage units.

A quick gesture and a brief light in Taryn’s hands does… something. Ari has no way to tell what, but it doesn’t matter enough to ask. Something defensive, probably, to protect them from accidental discovery.

As soon as Taryn’s obviously done with the spell, Ari hugs her again, and this time she holds on tight. Taryn puts her arms around her in return.

“Thank you, for letting me do this.” “Warlocks are assholes,” Taryn mutters with surprising venom. “... those guys sure are.” “You were right not to leave him. I’m glad we got him.” “Me too,” Ari agrees. “Thank you.”

Reluctantly, Ari disentangles her arms and steps back. She leans briefly against the side of the storage unit, and drags a hand down her face. “He won’t live without a healer,” she observes wearily, “or a hospital.” “They won’t trade for him in this state,” Taryn notes. “And if they did, they’d kill people putting him back together.”

Taryn looks down and away as if she isn’t sure what to say, or how to say it. Ari figures she’ll save her the trouble. “If we gave him too much morphine now, it’d still be… much kinder than leaving him to burn.” Taryn looks up a little sharply. “Is that what you want?” Ari’s throat closes abruptly. Her voice comes out thick with the risk of tears. “I – don’t know,” she admits. “It’d be – enough. I don’t…” “Well,” Taryn interjects, “I for one think it would be a shame to take all that risk for someone only to kill him. So unless you’d actually rather he died, why don’t we see what we can do.” Ari lifts her eyes. Taryn faces her down, serious and focused. “I… don’t think we’ll change his mind about us,” Ari warns. She doesn’t know why she expects Taryn to argue that point, but Taryn just shrugs. “Okay,” Ari agrees, swallowing the lump from her throat. “Okay. Thank you, Taryn.”

The look Taryn is giving her isn’t entirely sympathetic. Something in Ari bristles, if only faintly. Was it too harsh of her to suggest killing him? She knows Taryn was thinking it too. He’s an enemy. A warlock-killer. It’s not cruelty, she’s just trying to be pragmatic.

But she shakes off the unhelpful line of thinking. “A healer, then.” “Let’s bring Alex in on this,” Taryn suggests, to Ari’s surprise.. “Are you sure?” “He’ll want to help.” She says, as if that isn’t part of the reason to worry in the first place. “And I don’t know who else we could ask to heal an unrepentant federal agent. And who won’t tell on us to Daniel.” “Fair points well made,” Ari sighs. Taryn puts a hand on her shoulder. “I think he’ll be fine. He won’t hurt himself for a fed.” Ari can’t help it, she laughs. Taryn looks confused for a second, as if she didn’t even remember exactly who she was saying that to. Then she laughs a brief, tense laugh as well. “That was different,” she points out. “Yeah, I know.”

“Okay.” Ari straightens her spine. Emotions can wait. “Can you talk to Alex? I’ll start Connor on antibiotics and try to get him calmed down. He’s… less scared of me than you. Marginally.” “Alright,” Taryn agrees. “I’ll bring Alex straight here if I can.” “Yeah. That’d be best.” Connor doesn’t really have time to lose.

#my writing #verse: resistance #unlikely salvation #(ish)#connor thompson #ariadne milonas #taryn morgen

16 notes · View notes

just-horrible-things · 5 months ago

Text

'Verse: Resistance AU: Chewtoy, Alt: What if Connor's "right way" worked out

Dust

Connor drives her home. Ari sits in the passenger seat, stiff and numb, feeling her stripes through the bandages and the unfamiliar dull of the painkillers they made her take.

It doesn’t feel real.

The last time she let herself hope it was real, Connor betrayed her.

She has all of the documentation that proves it’s real right here, in an envelope clutched too-tight between sweaty, trembling fingers.

It’s not going to stick. Riven’s going to find some way to drag her back. She feels it as a leaden weight in her chest, crushing her lungs down into her stomach.

Connor tries to get her to talk, asking questions she cannot possibly answer like what’s she going to do now. She mumbles “don’t know” and does not look at him.

She ought to be trying to drink in the sight of outside while it lasts, but she barely sees the buildings rolling past the windows.

Eventually he parks up in a lot that she recognises but cannot find any familiarity in. She knows where she is, but all the shapes are alien. She gets out of the car.

Connor gets out too, and gets the meagre bag of Ari’s belongings from the back before she can get to it. Ari holds out her hand for it. He looks like he didn’t expect her to take it, but he hands it over.

He follows her into the building. She wants to tell him to fuck off but – it’s pretty fucking ungrateful, isn’t it. He did get her out. She shouldn’t still be angry with him.

In the elevator she turns her keys over and over in her hands like they’re some foreign artefact. Connor is quiet, perhaps finally understanding that she doesn’t want to talk.

The lock on her front door is no stiffer than she remembers it. She supposes that with no weather inside the apartment block, there’s no reason for it to stiffen up with disuse. Reluctance hits her like a wave. She doesn’t want to open the door. But with Connor watching, she doesn’t hesitate.

The first thing that strikes her is the smell. A cold, damp smell, of dust and mildew and god she hopes there isn’t too much mold.

The second thing is the dust. A thin, off-grey layer coats absolutely everything. The carpet, the couch, the cabinet, the bookshelves she never fully filled, the windowsill, the printer, the paper she left out, the unwashed plate still balanced on the arm of the couch…

She knew, she knew to expect it, but christ it’s going to take a long time to clean up.

She can’t feel the dust through her boots, that’s ridiculous. But she thinks she can. Grime under her soles, gritty and greasy. All the doors still stand ajar where she presumably left them.

“How long…” When she looks back, Connor is still lingering at the front door. His tone has changed, blunt pragmatism softened and hollowed out by surprise and a pity that makes Ari’s skin crawl. “I lost track,” she answers without feeling. “About three years.”

There’s insect dirt all over the kitchen floor. Fuck, what did she leave in the cupboards? Probably pasta, rice… She’s not even going to think about the fridge yet. That’s a problem for another day. In fact, the whole kitchen is a problem for another day. Priorities. She makes for the bedroom instead.

It’s going to be grim, she knows. If there’s mildew in the sheets she might have to chuck them. But if it’s just dust it should wash out…

“Why don’t you stay at my place tonight,” says Connor. Ari looks back. He’s stepped into the apartment now, but not far enough to close the door behind himself. “Or… as many nights as you need.”

Why, so you can cuff me to your couch again?

Ari bites her tongue. “It’s fine,” she says. “It won’t take too long to clear a space to sleep. I can work on the rest later. Over the… the next few weeks. It’s not like I have anything else to do.”

She doesn’t want to look at him. She pushes the bedroom door open instead – avoiding the dust-coated handle – to take in the layer of grime and mold coating everything that used to be hers.

A wide swathe of black mold is creeping up the outside wall, all spots and streaks. Well fuck. Maybe she isn’t sleeping in here any time soon. That’s going to take a shitload of scrubbing to get rid of.

“‘Anything else to do’ – Ari, you need to take time to recover. The doctor said rest, you can’t be – deep cleaning an entire apartment.”

Her bedsheets are still rumpled, unmade, the dust highlighting all the untidy folds. She doesn’t remember the last day she woke up here. She didn’t know she wasn’t coming back.

“We’ll get a cleaning company.” Connor is still talking. “And you can stay with me until this place is fit for human habitation.”

Anger is sick and bitter in the back of her throat. Her fingers are tight on the doorframe – too tight, she makes an effort to relax before Connor sees the white of her knuckles.

“Or… if you don’t want to stay with me, we can book you into a hotel.” “Here is fine.” She tries not to snap it, and instead her voice comes out thick and choked. She digs her fingernails into the palm of her hand. “Here is a biohazard,” Connor fires back. “You are not sleeping here, you’ll get… mold in your lungs or something.”

Her stupid childish posters are still on the wall, actors she no longer gives a shit about succumbing slowly to the encroaching mold. Movies get nothing right anyway.

It’s better than a cell – but she doesn’t say it. She doesn’t want his pity, she doesn’t want –

She stiffens, sensing Connor’s approach without looking round. She’s ready to shrug a hand off her shoulder, ready to pull away without giving in to the impulse to lash out – but he doesn’t touch her. He stops out of arm’s reach. Reluctantly she turns to face him.

Their feet have left prints in the dust.

“Come with me,” he says. It’s almost, almost a request, but even now he’s telling her, not asking. Even though she’s supposed to be free now, why would anyone ever ask Ari to do anything?

She’s trembling, and she hates it.

“Let’s go and get something to eat, and set you up with a decent place to sleep, and we can figure out what to do about –” an encompassing gesture “-- this later.”

We, we, we. Inviting himself into her life – such as it is.

“I’m not yours,” she snaps. The look he gives her is withering. “Jesus, Ari. You’re not anyone’s. What crazy crap did he put in your head?” Ari flushes, the kind of head-to-toe flush that makes her face and her fingers and the soles of her feet itch. “Sorry,” she mumbles, “The, um, the drugs, I’m not... thinking clearly…” “Yet another reason not to tackle this today.”

Her shoulders are shaking. She feels like once upon a time she would have been crying, but there are no tears.

She doesn’t want to be here. This moldering shell of the life she used to have isn’t a home. It’s the cast off skin of a teenager who doesn’t exist anymore.

“Come on,” Connor repeats. “This is… day one. You don’t have to tackle everything at once.” Reluctantly, eyes fixed on the dusty carpet, she nods.

So she trails after him like a ghost as he leads her back out of the apartment. She locks up without needing to be told, and puts the jagged shapes of the keys back into her pocket. They ride the elevator down in silence.

It’s only when he expects her to get back into his car that she balks.

“If they,” she fumbles, “if, if I have to…” Connor stops half-in-half-out of the car. He looks at her struggling, fidgeting at her bag, and settles on out. He leans his elbows on the top of his car to listen to Ari as she tries to find her tongue. “If they change their minds, and they — want me back, want me to go back –” “You’re not going back.” “-- I don’t thi– no, I won’t survive it again.” “Ari, listen to me. You’re not going back. If they change their minds, I will tell them that I lost you and I will make sure you get out of the country. But they won’t change their minds, –” “What about – not being a traitor, not putting your, your job and your life on the line, not – letting me desert –” The words are tumbling out of her now. “What about – people seeing you with me and – CCTV and –” “Ari.” “-- and your fucking duty – aren’t you gonna jump to it if they call you back to fucking heel? Aren’t you gonna drag me back in if they decide I’m the traitor and Riven was – is –” “Ari.”

She shuts up. She hates herself for it, for responding to the anger in his voice with instant compliance.

“I’m not taking you back again. I told you – if this way doesn’t work, I will find another way. I’m not taking you back for Riven to kill you, or for anyone else to do it. If they try to call you back or frame you as the bad guy here… that’s a blatant perversion of the law, and I will not go along with it.” Ari almost laughs. She swallows hard, tries to disguise it as a cough. “Didn’t I tell you I was getting you out?” he presses. “And here you are.”

“Swear it,” Ari demands. She doesn’t know where it comes from. “Swear you won’t – give me back to them, no matter what they say.” It’s a stupid thing to ask for. Why would a promise to her carry more weight than his oaths to President and country? “I swear it. No matter what.”

Ari exhales shakily. She wants to run from him, run from here. Grab everything that’s worth anything from the apartment and run and run and never look back. Not trust Connor, or anyone else, ever again, and just pray that when they change their minds she’s far enough away that finding her isn’t worth the effort, and – live however she has to, sleep in the trash if she has to and stay under the radar and –

“... Will you get in the car?”

Feeling numb, Ari nods.

#my writing #chewtoy!ariadne #connor thompson

10 notes · View notes