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just-horrible-things · 9 days

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'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

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just-horrible-things · 1 year

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‘Verse: Resistance Story: Chewtoy AU, co-author @whump-sprite Timeline: The Resistance have rescued Connor from the feds -- skipping ahead slightly over a couple of things like meeting Alex, may or may not come back and fill in the gaps

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There's a bed for Ari in Connor's room, but she uses it as little as she can. Mostly she gets her sleep in snatches, sitting on the bed beside Connor with his head against her leg, or sitting on the floor leaning back against the side of his bed.

It’s easier to sleep when she doesn’t mean to, when she lets it creep up on her instead of lying down and trying to force it. It’s also easier to make sure she doesn’t fall too deeply into sleep.

If she sleeps too deeply she might miss the alarm for Connor's meds.

If she sleeps too deeply, she might dream too deeply, and the last thing Connor needs is to hear her screaming. He already thinks she’s in 17 with him half the time.

If she only lets herself doze, she jolts herself awake almost as soon as the nightmares start, or else they stay shallow and formless enough that she knows she’s dreaming.

She’s down to the last of the pills and she’s spacing them out to make them last, and that means brief highs of twitchy nervous energy interspersed with long, painful stretches of exhaustion where she can barely keep her eyes open.

When she does give in, in the small hours of the night, and lay down on the bed, she stays on top of the covers and she tucks the alarm clock right into the crook between her neck and her shoulder so it can’t fail to wake her.

The sharp sound wakes her with a jolt what feels like only seconds after she’s closed her eyes.

She fumbles it trying to turn it off as fast as possible, drops it into her lap and has to grab it again. She knows it will have woken Connor too. She knows she should get up and comfort him. She knows he’s hurting, more than she has ever hurt even when he almost killed her, and she has the drugs that will make it bearable.

It’s still hard to prise her weight from the bed and force herself to get moving. It’s like she didn’t get any sleep at all, even though it was more than two hours.

“A-Ari,” Connor chokes out, laying eyes on her. “I’m safe,” she promises, hoping to head off the flood of protests that follow recognition. “I’m not hurt, no one’s hurting me. And you’re safe too, I’m here for you.”

She can’t find it in herself to put the warmth into her words that he deserves. He stares up at her with broken, pleading eyes, and she turns away to get his drugs.

Her hands are shaking so much that it’s hard to use the little dropper that measures the morphine from the bottle.

He’s breathing like it’s bad again, shallow desperate little breaths that he takes and holds and only releases with a rattle when he has to gasp for another.

“Better soon,” she promises, “I’m giving you morphine now. Gonna make it better, okay Connor?”

The few remaining pills in her backpack drag at her attention like a siren lure. She’d stop feeling sick from the sleeplessness if she took one, even just a half. She doesn’t need it, she tells herself, not now. It’s still nighttime, she’ll get Connor settled and then she’ll go back to sleep. She’ll save the precious boost for morning.

She sits by his head and strokes his hair. No one’s tried to brush it, but Morgen cleaned it with magic and the mats are slowly teasing apart through the steady work of Ariadne’s fingers. It needs cutting, but it seems weird to do that without him understanding. And Ari would only make a mess of it.

As the morphine starts to do its work, Connor’s breathing evens out and the desperation fades from his stare. He starts to look around a little, and Ari is able to relax as he does. Sleep claws at the back of her eyes, dragging her down, and it’s an effort just to keep her hand moving across Connor’s head.

She’s almost under by the time he speaks again. “... Ari?” “M’yeah? I’m here.” “Wh- ere…?”

Ari opens her eyes, blinking repeatedly to try and clear the sand from them. Anything even close to lucidity is worth being awake for.

“Safe,” she answers. “You’re out, we’re in… our room, in a place where they’re taking care of us.” Not the first time she’s given the non-answer, and probably won’t be the last. One of these times it might go in. “... how?” “I found some people who could help us. I’m sorry it took so long.” “You’re not – hurt?” “No, I’m not hurt, I’m just fine.” She forces a smile. It’s not fake, she really is more than glad that he’s looking around and not seeing a cell, not seeing her bleed and cry, or seeing Riven in her place. Just it’s hard, to make herself make any expression at all. “Everything’s… calm.” Not okay. Everything is far from okay. “No one’s gonna hurt either of us.”

He screws his face up, trying to think straight.

“I saw… I, I thought I saw…. Taryn Morgen?” Internally, Ari winces. “Yeah,” she agrees, trying to sound as chill as she possibly can. “But it’s okay. She’s… helping us.” “... Morgen helping us.”

His disbelief ought to worry Ari but all she can feel is the breathless high of relief that he’s finally understanding enough to have this conversation.

“Jesus, Ari, what did you do?” His head is tipped back to look up at her, and it’s finally Connor looking up at her, and this time she has to fight not to smile. “I made a deal,” she confesses. “I… what… what did they do to you?” He’s so lost, and so hurt, and still worried for her and her heart breaks for him. “Nothing. Nothing, they haven’t hurt me, I’m okay, I promise.”

A silence stretches between them. Ari wants so badly just to gather him into her arms and hug tight and never let go – but she can still barely touch him without hurting him.

“What was the deal,” he asks. “What… do you have to do?”

She closes her eyes, feeling her stomach drop through the mattress below her. She knew he’d ask, she had to know it, but she didn’t want to.

She wants to lie. She wants to tell him not to worry about it, the same way she’s deflected all his previous questions about where and why and who is helping him. But he was delirious then, and he wouldn’t have understood if she had told him.

“Ari… What did you promise them?”

He’s really here now, and she can’t justify lying. He has to know, sooner or later.

“I… promised them what you know.” “What I know,” he echoes, baffled. “About the department.”

His horror cuts deeper than the whip ever did. She knew they’d have to have this conversation, she just didn’t know it would be so soon.

“I’m sorry,” she says helplessly. Tears, an unwelcome surprise, itch behind her eyes. “I didn’t have anything they wanted, I’d have given them anything I could but all they wanted –” “I won’t,” he says over her. “I - I won’t do it, no.” “Connor –” “No. N-no, I won’t tell, tell them a-anything, I won’t do it.” He’s starting to panic. “Connor –” “No.”

He tries to push himself up on his elbows, and makes himself cry out with the pain of moving. Ari reaches for his head and he jerks it away from her. Wild eyes flick from her – off to the side – back to her.

“Hey, woah, it’s okay–” “No,” he repeats, and shakes his head, and even that hurts him enough to draw another choked groan from his throat. Ari’s heart is pounding. Her mind is blank. “Don’t,” she tries, “it’s, don’t, you don’t have to do anything now, it’s, we’ll talk about it –” “No,” Connor gasps. His gaze flicks back and forth again. She thought he wasn’t seeing things anymore, but maybe – “Okay,” she surrenders, “okay, I won’t make you, it’s okay…” “Please,” he whimpers, tears forming in his eyes. “It’s okay, no one’s gonna hurt you, it’s okay, just – just settle down…”

She really, really hopes it isn’t a lie. She’ll say it anyway, if it will make him calm down. If it might help him get through this enough to see reason.

He flinches from her hand again, hyperventilating painful shallow breaths. Whatever that sick, awful feeling welling up in Ariadne is, she pushes it down. She can’t afford it. She has to be calm, for Connor.

“It’s me,” she promises, “it’s just me, I won’t hurt you, it’s me, Ari…” He lets her touch his forehead, and exhales a low, wounded whine as her thumb brushes across the creased skin. He’s still far too warm, but not burning up like yesterday… “I’m here,” she says, “I’m here, I’ve got you. Lie still, okay? Don’t hurt yourself. Try to breathe slow…”

“Ari –” he croaks – “I – can’t –” “I know, I know. We’ll – we’ll take it as it comes, you don’t have to do anything right now. It’s nighttime. Just rest. I’m sorry. Just rest.”

It’s a long time before he settles. Exhaustion clogs Ari’s chest and weighs down her limbs. She’s desperate to sleep, but even when Connor finally falls asleep and she’s able to put her head back and close her eyes, somehow it doesn’t happen.

She can still feel her heart racing, drumming in her temples as another headache starts to set in.

—

Morgen checks the IV, checks Ariadne’s notes on the doses she’s been giving, and nods approval. Ari swallows back a pathetic thank you.

She wants to ask her when her brother’s coming next, but she holds her tongue. They’re already getting so much more than the warlocks have to give them. She doesn’t want to seem ungrateful.

She checks all of Connor’s wounds, and changes the dressings and Connor cries and moans and whenever Ari isn’t needed as a second pair of hands, she holds his face so that he looks at her not at Morgen, and promises him that he’s being helped and that the touching will be over soon.

The fever’s still better, but he’s less lucid than he was overnight.

When they’re done, the witch motions Ariadne to join her outside.

Sweat creeps coldly down Ari’s spine. Her feet throb, and her fingers itch with nervous energy.

“I happened to overhear,” Morgen says, “that your friend doesn’t want to talk to us.” “He’ll come around.” Ariadne’s voice is steadier than her heartbeat. Full of conviction that she wishes she felt. “He’s not thinking straight, I don’t think he really understood what I was saying. Or what he was. He’ll want to help once he understands what happened, what you did for him. He’s just – scared.”

“I’m not the monster that he thinks I am,” Taryn says. “But if I were routinely this generous for free, we would cease to exist.” The threat is more than clear. They’ll get what they want – what they’re owed – even if they have to take it by force. “He’ll talk to you,” Ariadne promises. “He just needs time.” The please is on the tip of her tongue. “He can have time.” “Thank you.” “Unlike the feds,” a pointed look at Ariadne, “I take no pleasure in asking questions while someone is half delirious and I control their pain meds.” “Thank you,” Ari repeats, desperate. She didn’t need the reminder, she’s well aware of the power Taryn has over Connor, over both of them.

But she’s giving them time. Ari could fall to her knees just from the relief. She would fall to her knees if she thought Morgen wanted it, if she thought it would help. She doesn’t care about dignity. But Morgen expects her to have a conversation like a normal person, so Ari won’t beg at her feet. She can be normal. She can try.

“Once he’s a bit better, do you think he’d be more likely to talk to Alex?” Taryn asks. “He’s my better half.” Ari bites her lip, considering it seriously. She’s not fully sure what exactly made Connor panic, but Alex is much less frightening than his sister… “Maybe,” she hedges. “I’m, I’ll keep talking to him, I’ll figure out what got him scared… Once he understands, he’ll say yes, I know he will. I just need to make him understand.” “You let me know.” “I will.”

It feels like dismissal, and Ari starts to turn back to the door, back to Connor.

“Oh, and Ariadne?” “Yes?” She stops in her tracks, looks back to Taryn like a good little dog called to heel. “Do you need a break? There’s another bed you can use, in a different room.” “Oh, um,” she flounders. “I’m, I’m okay.” “I know it’s a lot, taking care of him.” Reluctantly Ari nods, but “I don’t mind,” she says. “I’m okay.” “You should take a break. I can watch Connor for you, or when I’m busy someone else can. I never meant you had to keep vigil 24/7.” “I’m getting enough sleep.” The hollows under her eyes give the lie to her words, but it is enough. She’s still functioning. “It’s okay, I – I prefer to be with him, he still doesn’t know where he is, so – when he wakes up I can be there…” “Alright,” Taryn allows. “Let me know whenever you do want to rest. I’ll make sure someone’s there. You won’t be leaving him alone.” “Thank you,” Ari repeats, just relieved not to be separated from him. “I, I will.”

She won’t.

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#my writing #verse: resistance #au: chewtoy #chewtoy!ariadne #connor thompson #taryn morgen

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