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just-horrible-things · 2 years ago

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‘Verse: Resistance Story: Chewtoy AU, co-author @whump-sprite Timeline: The Resistance have rescued Connor from the feds

Fix Him [Prev | Next]

The soft click of the door makes Ariadne jump, and her flinch jostles Connor and makes him twitch. He tries to move his limbs and cries hoarse and Ari pats his cheek and hushes him “Shhh, shh, be still.”

Morgen is back, and dread curdles down the length of Ari’s spine.

Has she done something wrong already? Has she forgotten something? Is it time for the witch to rip what she wants out of Connor’s mind?

If she lets Ari stay with him and try to comfort him through it, she’ll count that as a mercy. She’ll try to count it as a mercy. She’ll swallow the anger bubbling in her throat and fizzing across her tongue because she is grateful, she is.

She eases her aching, cramping leg out from under Connor so that she can get up. He shudders and moans, eyes glassy.

“It’s about time he can have a little more morphine,” Morgen says. “I have a few minutes, so I thought I’d come and check that you’re okay giving it.” “Thank you,” says Ari, because Morgen’s tone suggests that this is a favor she’s doing them.

She’s self-conscious checking the notepad. She doesn’t have her instructions memorized yet. She doesn’t want to get this wrong.

She draws up the drug from the hand-labeled bottle, just like Morgen showed her. As she moves to put it into the IV, the witch steps closer to watch her hands, and Connor sees her. With a sharp, cracked yell he tries to flinch away.

“Shh!” Ari tells him. “Connor, be still. I’m not hurting you.”

Her hands shake a little, but it’s not technically difficult. Morgen nods approval, and Ari hates the sickly way gratitude twists inside her chest.

Connor’s gaze is locked onto Morgen, and his breathing stays ragged and choppy despite the fresh drugs. Ari is reluctantly grateful again when Morgen nods her towards the door to talk outside. It gets the witch out of the room with him.

She follows at Morgen’s heels, obedient, ready to receive orders and just hope it’s nothing that will hurt Connor.

Once the door is closed, Morgen turns to her.

“You see a lot of people like this, Milonas?” Ari swallows, caught off guard. “I used to,” she hedges. Her heart is suddenly racing, trying to break out from behind her sternum. “Not since Connor rescued me.” Rescued feels like a lie but it’s not, it’s not. “Before that I be– I, mh, I was kept in a blacksite, a prison. 17.”

I belonged to a torturer, she almost said.

She’s not meant to think like that. She absolutely doesn’t want to say that, especially not to the Resistance. She nearly did.

Morgen’s gaze is cool and critical, but she inclines her head. Ari looks down at her own feet, at the scuffed toes of her boots. She feels scruffy and dirty and small.

Deep breath in, slow and subtle so it isn’t obvious.

“This…” she falters, “He’s… not gonna get better, from this.”

She’s looked at his hands, his ankles, his feet. If the infection doesn’t kill him, he’ll never walk again. He'll never use his hands.

She drags her gaze up to reluctantly meet Morgen’s eyes. “Can… you fix him?”

She has nothing to offer that she hasn’t already promised them. Nothing that they can’t take with or without her consent if they want it.

“I’ll kill for you, I’ll die for you, anything you want, anything I can.”

She has to try.

“I’m a witch, not a goddess.” For a second Morgen sounds annoyed and Ari is cringing inside, ready to drop to her knees.

Then the witch’s expression softens a fraction. “My brother is a healer,” she says. “He’ll do what he can. It’s not… It’s not like he snaps his fingers and it’s better.” Another frown. “You know that. You’ve seen kept healers.” “Thank you,” Ari breathes. “Thank you so much.”

“Don’t expect the results to be perfect. But… he’s brought people back from this kind of condition before. No need for killing or dying. I can kill perfectly well on my own. And I can’t imagine how your death would do us any good. Besides, he needs you.” “Thank you,” Ari repeats, hating how pathetic she sounds. "Thank you."

“The man who did this,” Morgen says. “Well. The lead interrogator responsible for this.” “Maclauren.” For a second Morgen looks surprised, then her eyes narrow. “How would you know that?” Ariadne quails. “I – I don’t,” she flounders, “I just – the pattern, his ankles, a-and hands, and, Maclauren has a grudge, I just assumed — I shouldn’t have assumed. I don’t know that, it was a guess, I’m sorry.” “Maclauren has a grudge against Thompson? Why?” “Because he took from Maclauren when he saved me.”

Silence. Ari is frozen, naked under Morgen’s scrutiny as if her gaze could pierce her clothes and pick out every scar.

“Well,” the witch allows eventually, “you guessed right. Maclauren wasn’t there when I went in. I’d have liked the chance to kill him. Your Connor isn’t the first he’s hurt.” Not by a long, long way. Shivers race across Ari’s skin. She can scarcely breathe. “Connor isn’t in any state to answer questions yet. So perhaps you can help us.” “Anything,” Ari promises, too fast. “You knew him. I want to know anything that might help me find him.” “O-of course. I, uh, i-it’s all years out of date, I’m sorry, but – of course.”

She knows his full name, and his serial number. She’s written it on enough forms that even after two years, it’s still engraved in her mind. She doesn’t remember the license plate of the car he drove when she was a trainee, but she remembers the make and color.

With every detail she gives, she paints a picture of how close she was to him.

She knows that he likes to go out for drinks after work, especially at the end of the week. She can name some bars he used to frequent, maybe still does.

She can feel the stain of association like a slick of grease across her skin, a filth that she’ll never be rid of. How much can she say before the warlocks understand that she participated in what he does to their kind? Before they decide that she deserves to share in whatever death they have planned for Riven?

It might be worth it, she thinks, so long as he dies too.

She even remembers an address, where he used to live, and that interests Morgen more than any of the rest.

“That, it, was five years ago, no, um, six? He might have moved since then…” “Even an old address might be enough to let me scry him. Thank you, Milonas. When I kill him, I’ll let you know.”

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

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